Time is Ticking
by The Pepper Pot
Summary: Britain accidentally mixes magic with technology and unages himself to when he was seventeen! America comes by and helps him.


Hello again! This is the first oneshot I've ever written where I tried to actually have a plot rather than just a senerio. It's a little wierd, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Warning; there is some yaoi and sex in this piece. Enjoy!

Slowly England regained consciousness. He was…in his basement. The cold floor pressed against his stiff muscles and joints. Carefully, he sat up and looked around. The room looked eerier than before he passed out, and it took him a few minutes to see that it was because the lamps had blown out and the only light was coming from the windows near the ceiling of the cellar. If he had passed out from a spell, he'd never live down the embarrassment; only the weak minded would fall unconscious from a spell they themselves cast, and it was a point of pride on his part that he was far more intelligent than most. He stood stiffly and dusted himself off; his basement wasn't the cleanest of places and was coated with about as much grime and dust as a Victorian street. Only as his arm smoothed out his jacket sleeve, he noticed that it no longer fell at his wrist, but half way down his hand. The other sleeve had the same problem and the shoulders were much too wide.

He shed the oversized garment to see that his pants were a little too long and far too loose. He hastily synched his belt tighter to prevent them from falling. The magic circle he assumed he had been using had all but vanished from the floor and left no traceable evidence to see what had gone wrong with the spell. Something must have gone wrong if he woke up after its completion. England decided to mark off his hazy perception and disproportioned vision as shock and nerves, but as he went to open the door to go upstairs, his hand missed the door knob by about three inches. He shook his head and counted it off as being disoriented from falling unconscious for so long.

Bright light streamed into his old Victorian style house as he trudged up the stairs, coming from the West. Somehow he'd managed to sleep well into the afternoon. To his knowledge he hadn't done that since he was a teenager and cursed himself for his laziness. Grime from his boots streaked on the floor and carpets as he walked, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was to take a shower and try to remember what had happened the night before.

The old faucet of his antique bathtub creaked as it turned, and he waited for the water to get hot. As the steam fogged up the mirror, he undressed himself, taking off his slightly too large clothing and noticed how his frame seemed to feel different, lighter perhaps, and more flexible feeling. After a few minutes he turned off the water and stepped in. It was nearly twenty minutes before he even moved, as he felt the stiffness in his joints from his night in the cellar melt away into the warmth of the water. Finally, he forced himself out and dried off, letting the grime and sweat go down the drain with the water.

Even through the steam-fogged mirror he could see that he looked atrocious. His hair was matted and his face puffy, and there were some bruises or something on his forehead that hurt when he put his hand to them. He'd put ice on them later. The put his robe on and trudged around his closet putting on his spare military uniform and was startled to find that none of these clothes would fit quite right either.

He eventually gave up and put on some slightly older style clothes from the 18th century. He looked himself over in the full length mirror at the end of the closet to see a much younger version of himself looking back. He at first thought that it might have been just the clothes but as he looked closer, he saw that his face was rounder and the bright spots on his face were not cuts but acne. No wonder he felt different; he had unaged. If memory served him correctly, he was about six or seven years younger, which put him at…seventeen? This couldn't be right; there were no spells he had ever studied which would allow for a being of his class and order to unage. As a country, he was the representation of the United Kingdom's strength and age and nothing could change that. He had aged a little in the past few years as he had gotten stronger but not so suddenly and had never gotten younger. He tried not to panic, but that's a hard feat when one has very little frontal lobe development.

The front hall bell rang. Shite! He couldn't be seen like this, not by anyone. He looked out his bedroom window to see a Ford Mustang parked in front of his house. Especially not his lover, America! He looked around for a few seconds trying to think of something. He grabbed his black cloak, but thought better and donned his brown, and pulled the hood over his head, obscuring his face and hopefully masking his height, and put on period-style heeled shoes for good measure. The bell rang again and he heard America's impatient voice saying something from downstairs.

England only managed to open the door as America was about to abandon ringing and start pounding by the looks of his raised fist and facial expression. "Oh Arthur I thought that you were just going to ignore me what's with the outfit you almost never wear past styles and you never wear cloaks unless you're casting a spell and are you wearing heels are you suggesting a role play?" With that he stepped inside and whisked the cloak from England's head, showing what was so vainly hidden. "Peter?"

Hate flashed in those green eyes and he hastily turned his back hoping beyond hope that America would 'realize his mistake' and go away. "No!" he shouted at the wall. "It's me. What's so important you had to come three thousand miles to tell me?"

Strong hands covered his shoulders and started to rub gently. "Only that I'm horny and want to have sex with you." England froze and his heart rate increased, flushing pink. His ears must have turned colour because the next thing he knew, America was chuckling and started nibbling on his right ear.

He tried to step away from his former colony, but the strong arms wrapped around him holding him in place. If he was as strong as he used to be, he could have freed himself. Still he squirmed. "America, this is a really bad time for this. Let me go!"

One of the arms which were wrapped so firmly around him began to slide down to his belt and fumbled around with the old clasp. To his horror, his young body was reacting quickly to America's touches, and America noticed. "What do you mean it's a bad time? You're more eager than I am." It was true; England was noticeably hard under his thin summer weight britches. America gave up for a second on unclasping the belt and palmed the growing erection even as England forced himself to calm down to no avail. Normally he could control himself for a little while at least but with this body it felt like the first time all over again. He moaned a little and pushed into America's hand unconsciously. The American turned him around, and reached for a kiss when he noticed for the first time that there were subtle differences in England's appearance. "England?"

"MmmHHm!" The Brit was still grinding happily against America's hand through his pants.

"What happened to you?" That made England forget for a second that he was experiencing a hand job for what might have been the first time. Which was just long enough to remember that he was seventeen at the most and America still thought that his lover should have been twenty three.

With an effort, England pulled himself away from America's strong and inviting embrace and coaxing hand to try and clear his head. Which was not an easy thing to do when he still had hard on and raging teenage hormones. "W-well," he stammered, trying to think of something to say. "It's an interesting story." America quirked an eyebrow at him, telling him to continue. "I woke up this morning." He left out the fact that he had somehow slept until past noon. "When I did, I found I had been unconscious in my cellar for no apparent reason. Everything I was wearing at the time seemed to have grown too large for me and when I changed the clothing what fit was from the 18th century, so I'm assuming I'm about seventeen again. I can only assume it was a spell, but I have no recollection of it and beyond that I just don't know." He glanced at America so as to express his confusion and an apology, but when America snorted he realized that he had shot a glance of wanton need.

America circled around him in a wide birth as if he had some contagious disease and sat down in his parlour. "So you're seventeen?" England nodded and sat down in the matching chair across the room. "And you have no idea what did this to you?" England nodded again. "So if you're dated back to the 18th century, that would technically make you a virgin, wouldn't it?" England felt another surge of blood and nerves rush to his groin, but refused to pay attention. In stead, he looked America directly in the eye and tried to get him to take it back. "No, all I mean is it makes sense as to why you reacted so strongly before; I was barely touching you and you were trying to hump my hand."

England blushed scarlet and snapped angrily, "well I'd like to see you try and deal with these stupid teenage hormones." It was only after he said it that he realized that America did deal with teenage hormones. Every day. His eyes slid sideways and down to the rug and he hear America chuckle again.

"It's fine. But you know; I'm still horny, and I know you're ready to jump me, so why don't we talk about this after sex?"

That sounded like the best proposition England had heard all day. In the blink of an eye, he was across the room and grinding against America's groin, pushing against the wall, moaning and bitching about how good America felt against him as blood trickled into his growing prick. Lips contacted with his and he felt his control slipping. He couldn't control himself anymore; he needed to feel America around himself and to hear America cry out under him as he thrust into that tight hole.

A throb of loss shocked through him, as he realized to his horror that America had lifted him up by the hips, that he was no longer able to pin down America. "Did you really think that was going to work? You're so tiny now." England protested as he was carried unceremoniously over America's shoulder into the guest bedroom on the first floor of his astronomy tower. He was laid down on the bed and found himself trapped under the now MUCH larger America. "I have to admit, I've been waiting a long time to gain dominance over you, and torturing a virgin is just too good to pass up." England gulped silently at those words gasped as he felt hand cuffs taking control of his arms and hold them still. He pulled experimentally on the metal but the cuffs were well made.

America set to unbuttoning England's shirt and played his fingers over England's chest scraping his nails gently and rolling his nipple between the pads of his fingers. "You know I've never been particularly sensitive to—nKHck!"

America smirked playfully, "What were you saying about your nipples?" England blushed and tried to look away. It was embarrassing to be betrayed so readily by a body which wasn't really his own. It was, but the body he was used to had been older and more reliable. Fingers caressed his cheek, pushing his face so he faced front, looking at America. A kiss landed on his mouth and he shivered as the mouth left his own and ghosted down his neck and started to work its way down his chest, stopping at any ticklish spots, torturing England. America must have known how hard England was for him right now, and yet he was so careful to avoid any contact to the younger country's vital regions. Eventually, he reached the belt again and fumbled with it for a moment before sliding it upwards. The light friction on the fabric tantalized England and he bucked up against America's hands, which were swiftly gone. His belt came undone and was slid from his pants. The buttons were swiftly released and England's erection stood stiffly. His pants were pulled off and discarded to the floor as quickly as was humanly possible. America's breath ghosted over it, making England whine and thrust, trying to make contact and some relief from the dull ache. Then he felt a soft lapping at his tip, the best thing he could remember feeling. He tried thrusting lightly to get America to accept his cock into his mouth but then that wonderful tongue disappeared.

"Alfred, stop teasing me. You know I'm a horny mess and we both know you know what it's like, so you really have no excuse." He flexed against the cuffs for leverage and rolled his hips up at America, catching him under the jaw.

America backed up and put his hand to his face. "You know, this could be considered payback for all the times you made fun of me for not being able to control my libido, but you seem to love it, and we're in no rush, so lay back and enjoy this. After all, it's only your first time twice." England grimaced at the joke, but his face broke into a dazed bliss when he felt soft lips and tongue on balls, sucking gently, licking between them. England gasped and whined when the warm mouth left them but almost screamed with pleasure when he finally felt America's mouth over his cock, swallowing him. He felt himself heating up, getting closer, pleasure coiling in the pit of his abdomen. America's mouth slid over him, going a little further each time. He strained to thrust, but he felt hands placed firmly on his hips, keeping him under control. After only a matter of minutes, England came into America's mouth, screaming silently. He lay panting, thinking that it was probably the best feeling he'd ever felt.

America was propped up tangent to England by his arm, and was busying himself with coating his fingers in England's cum. England only caught on to what he was doing a second before he felt the intrusion. One finger wiggled its way into England's tight entrance and poked around for a moment before "Aah—mmMM!" England tried to stifle his moan, but the pressure had felt too good, and he as quickly hardening again. America smirked at him and continued to prod at that spot, making the smaller nation jerk and twist uncontrollably. England was sticky with his own sweat and his nether regions were coated with his cum, now cooling in the air, chilling him even as he was heated from the pleasure. "Alfred, I—mmh!—need you."

In stead of complying, America added another finger, stretching him wider. The feeling was so strange. England had rarely ever bottomed in the past and now the feelings were just so much newer. With blood and pleasure quickly pooling, he began to squirm and thrust, seeking for contact with Alfred's hand or mouth, or something.

Any sense of dignity that the British nation usually tried to keep even during sex was out the window, and America knew it. As he fingered the Brit, he reached his other hand up to trace the slight contours of England's body, making him shiver and plead for more, and never touching him where he most desperately needed it. The smaller nation tried to hold back moans of pleasure and exasperation, but as he was toyed with and was brought closer, he felt his control and last shred of dignity slipping away from him. Normally he could withstand fingering until he was stretched, but America seemed to notice his dilemma and was being extra touchy. "St—op teasing m-me, you giyyyt!"

America would never admit it, but England being so bothered by mere fingering had him turned on in a major way. He leaned down so that he was almost touching that hot organ, on which he breathed hot air as he spoke. "You know, it'll be less painful tomorrow if you're properly stretched." He kissed England's tip, then sat back in puzzlement. "Is it just me, or did you get a little smaller?"

"No!" snapped England. He looked down just to be sure, and noticed that he might have. If he had, though, it was barely noticeable, and even if he did, proportionately it made sense; he was a lot smaller than he had been at twenty three. He scowled and looked away, only to feel America's hand on him, grinding with his palm. He couldn't help but buck into that wonderful hand and grind for all he was worth, even as a fourth finger was added, shooting pain through his lower back. The feel of that hand at last on him, squeezing at him, rubbing slickly along his length, pulling slightly, twisting loosely in all the right places. It was heaven. Then everything was gone, no fingers teasing his prostate, no fist around his member. He writhed and almost cried at the loss.

Slowly he opened his eyes to see America hurrying to take off his pants and boots, discarding them on the floor and slicking himself. A moment later, England's hips were grasped by the superpower and he felt a nudge at his entrance as America aligned himself and let out a long moan as he pushed in slowly and carefully. Heat radiated from the older country as he thrust slowly, building speed. One hand left his hip and wrapped around him, pulling at him in rhythm to the thrusts. Neither lasted long after that, England due to the sheer pleasure overload on his virgin body, and America due to the sight of his lover so moved my his ministrations.

As they came down from their high, America unclasped the cuffs and moved so that they were face to face. "I think I like this body; it's more fun." As if to prove his point, he brushed over England's nipple again and watched his nose twitch, trying to bite back any response at all.

"I'm not keeping it." America gave him an almost heartbroken expression. "Don't even try it; it's bad enough that I'm not a legal adult, but I don't need ridicule from other nations and my real body had been comfortable and more broken in. This one's just ridiculous." The hand which had been teasing his chest wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, the warmth comforting him into a light sleep.

Only a little while later, England woke up. He rolled over, thinking that America had no doubt gotten up long ago to do whatever it was that he did when England was asleep. America had not gotten up, and wasn't even awake. England's elbow collided with America's rib cage firmly, jarring the older nation into consciousness. "Oof! What's the idea?"

England tried to force his brain to work, and realized that America was still in bed for once. "I woke you up? I'm sorry, you're never here when I woke up, so I…I'm sorry." He leaned up to kiss America.

America smirked at him. "I've changed my mind. We're getting your old body back A.S.A.P. You're not allowed to have more endurance than me."

England slid off the bed and started buttoning his shirt and hunting around for his pants. "Maybe you're just getting old." He snickered to himself as he pulled on the garment with his back turned, hearing an indignant snort from his lover. "At any rate, we were discussing my predicament before all this happened."

America was hunched over, set pulling on his socks. "So, I suppose we should start with yesterday. What happened?"

England thought back. Yesterday was very fuzzy in his mind's eye. Yesterday…yesterday…He wanted to say that yesterday he had made a huge profit on securing a monopoly of indigo and didn't have to import his blue dye from France. But that would have been yesterday from three hundred years ago. The yesterday this body saw. Yesterday he had in reality tried make a synthetic substitute for opium so that he'd be able to legally smoke without any of the negative side effects to getting high. Something had gone awry and there was an explosion and the police came by to see what all the commotion was and he had to answer a lot of awkward questions while trying to reason with the police while the opiate in the other room boiled over. How he'd gotten out of that one, he'd never tell America. "Well, I was making a chemical substitute for opium and it boiled over, leaving me very high and so I don't remember what happened from there. I just woke up this afternoon in my cellar."

America looked incredulous. "So you were both extremely high and woke up in the place you normally practice spells. That's real smart, Artie." England looked as if he were going to shoot him another snarky comment, but America continued before he could be interrupted. "So we'll look around your kitchen first then? Maybe there'll be a way to tell what sort of spell you'd have needed."

They headed off to the first floor, and looked around the room. Nothing was revealed, except for still simmering white goo in an oversized pot on the stove. England quickly turned off the stove and cracked a window to allow for ventilation. America stuck his head in the pot and sniffed before he was pulled back harshly by England. "Do you want to get high? I thought you were obsessed with keeping drugs out of your borders." He lidded the pot and pushed it off the still hot burner. America looked cheated for a second before the phone rang out.

"Got it." He hit the speaker button on the wall phone. "Talk to me."

"Ah, Amerique! What are you doing Angleterre's house? Non, don't answer me. I'll just guess what you've been up to." England looked furious, but didn't have time to interrupt. "Anyway, I called because Italy ad I decided to move the conference up to tomorrow-"

"How could you decide anything like that without" England's voice cracked "the rest of the world?"

Silence came from the other end of the line. "Angleterre? Are you feeling quite all right? Amerique, get your hands off of him this instant, I still have my claims to him."

England cleared his throat and said more calculatingly, "fine, we'll be there," and the picked up and slammed the receiver. "Great, now I have a deadline to work with."

There was nothing to work with in the kitchen, so they headed down to the cellar where England had woken up that morning. "So you woke up there? Are you sure you were doing magic?" England shot him a how-the-bloody-hell-would-this-have-happened-if-it-weren't-for-the-use-of-magic look. "Just checking. Anyway; do you remember the spell?"

"No, if I knew the spell, I'd be able to reverse it with another spell. If I had to guess it would have been something to confuse the police." England started going through drawers full of chalk, herbs, candles, parchment, metal symbols, crystals, tallow, and more. When America didn't respond, he looked up. He was being given the strangest of looks. "Well when the neighbours complained about the strange smell coming from my house the police came to investigate. They obviously didn't end up in the kitchen or down here, so no harm done."

"Arthur, are you feeling alright? The police had to come and set you strait?" England looked embarrassed; this wasn't the first time he'd had a run in with the police, but it was the first time America had known anything of it. America had wandered over to his usually permanent array which was now completely rubbed off the floor. "Don't you usually have squiggles here?"

The younger nation rolled his eyes. "It's called an array. And yes, but it disappeared during the spell. It's not an uncommon phenomenon."

"You seriously redraw that thing every time you do a spell? Doesn't that get a little repetitive?" America was now staring fixedly at the wall behind him, thinking, and then checked his watch.

He put the thyme, cattails, and marijuana back into the second drawer and opened the third. "Yes, and I've gotten quite good at many of them."

"So if you redrew one of them would you remember what your spell was?"

"I don't think it works like that."

"We don't have a better idea." America had a point there. Antique shoes clicked across the old floorboards as England carried a set of chalk and ink from the table to the stretch of floor in front of America and set to drawing. After about half an hour, he sat back. "Nothing." Standing, he put back all the inks and chalks and wax he'd been using. America was surprised by the complexity of the spell and the skill Arthur had displayed in his mastery of magic. He'd heard of the spells and seen the results, but seeing it in person was something altogether different and thoroughly bewildering. "But there could be another way to unlock the memory. I think I've just done this too many times for it to work."

"Artie?"

"What now?"

"You know the Abhorsen trilogy, right?"

"What is this, some sort of stupid trivia-?"

"Because in that world magic and technology can't exist at the same time."

"That has nothing to do with this. Of course magic and technology can exist in the same plane of reality; the world would be too incongruous if they couldn't. That's a work of fiction."

"Isn't there any way technology could perhaps throw off a spell? Perhaps if it were incongruous with the present state?"

"I suppose. What are you getting at?"

"You're clock's wrong." England looked over his shoulder to the one America was pointing at.

"We switch to daylight savings sooner than you do; we're farther north."

America looked sceptical. "Even so, the minute hand is wrong by about forty minutes. Isn't that the clock I gave you?"

England was on the verge of breaking down crying because there was no lead to turning him back before the world conference the next day and it was already getting to be late in the afternoon. "Yes, America, you gave me that one."

"But you've never used it before have you." He was looking smug now. What gave him the right to look smug over a clock?

"Well it's hard to buy electrical converters from American to English outlets here, I hope you know. You can't expect for-"

America persisted on, annoying the Brit. "How many watts does your house use?" What could he possibly think he was getting at?

"Forty-five, custom circuits from the nineteenth century," he said breathlessly. How could he not have seen it before? The American clock wouldn't work here and would tell the wrong time.

"In America we use a sixty volt standard, so if you were to plug a clock into a socket with a lesser voltage, like yours for instance, the appliance would move slower. Most things wouldn't work much differently, like a coffee grinder, but clocks become useless."

"And if the clock moves slower, then time could be warped in the midst of a spell, catching the caster into a warped time frame. The clock moves at three quarters speed, so I'm three quarters my age. That must be it. If I cast a spell to confuse the police and the clock was only working at three quarter speed, then it is entirely plausible that it could have affected me."

America looked shocked. "Wait, you cast spells against your own police?"

England began fumbling with what looked like an astrolabe and a set of hour glasses. "If you knew all that, why would you give me something so useless?"

America walked over to him and hovered over his shoulder, watching him work. "You can buy adapters for the voltage, so if you had bought one the clock would have told the right time." England looked as if he had stopped listening. "So can you reverse it?"

'Can I indeed?' thought England. He didn't know the exact spell he had used, so a counter curse wouldn't work. He wasn't even the original target of the spell, so it probably wouldn't have worked even if he did know. "I'll have to write a new spell from scratch." He walked over to his bookshelf and thumbed along for a few minutes. Finally he came to a thin book with clasps rather than a binding. "If you're intent on staying, you can make yourself useful and erase the array I drew before. I'll need another." Somewhere in the corner of his eye he saw America roll his eyes and walk away.

An hour ticked by and then another and another. England had to turn up the lamps' gas flow for more light as the sun set before he was even finished with the outer most ring of his new array. America came down at some point with takeout curry, which England ate hastily before returning to his work. He hadn't realized how hungry he had been, but was thankful for it. As America cleaned up, he noticed what little progress England had made. It was already a little past eight. Shuffling behind England sounded as if America really was erasing the circle.

Two more hours saw the second ring and then it was only a matter of transcribing it onto the ground. A practiced hand would only take a half hour or so, but England had never drawn this before and had to check back at his sketch often to remain accurate. At this point, he could only hope that he wouldn't make any mistakes. It was nearly midnight before it was all drawn out. England felt his body weakening by two o' clock. It wasn't used to the long nights of spell casting and his only hope was to finish soon so he could make fewer mistakes, but there was still the potion to worry about.

When America came downstairs that morning, he found England hunched over a large book with a flask of some pearly liquid next to him and a note under his writing hand. He shook England awake and handed him a mug of tea, which was sniffed and discarded. "Thanks."

America was antsy to know, "Did you figure anything out?"

England sat back and stretched out his neck and arms, stiff from having slept at his desk. "I think so. I'll need your help though." He stood and walked with the potion to the centre of the circle, careful not to smudge the lines. "You've seen Da Vinci's drawing of the perfect man, correct? Stand behind me with your legs and arms spread like that." He had reached the centre and stood ready as America picked his way less surely through the marks. England faced north and slowly circled in place mumbling words in Old English before coming full circle. Around them, the rows of chalk turned to light and the lamps blew out and the sunlight streaming from the windows dimmed, leaving them in darkness. He quickly drank the potion and smashed the glass flask against the wall, making America jump slightly. More words were said and America felt a strange sensation as he was lifted from his body. Looking down, he saw himself standing behind England in a gleaming, not circle but sphere of light. Something slid through him and he shuddered at the discomfort as whatever it was seared into him, burning him. Settling down again, he saw the correct dimensions as his flesh eyes started to work again. "So Mode It Be. Read the note!"

The last phrase was said not as part of the spell but as a direction to America. Then the teenager collapsed in front of America and ceased to be. Then a thin wail sounded and America noticed that in England's clothes was a small child, barely more than a toddler. He was clearly England; nobody else had those eyebrows. It got up, pulled his cloak around him, discarded the pants, and wore the shirt as a tunic. "Who are you and what are you looking at?" America was taken aback; the spell had failed and returned England to near infancy.

The child ran from the room and a minute later he heard a series of doors slam and lock. Remembering his friend and lover's last words, he walked back to the desk and picked up the piece of parchment.

Dearest Alfred,

I know that this wasn't how you thought the spell would go, but it's the best I could do. I should now appear how I did when I was first conceptualized as a nation. I won't remember you, and for a while I won't want to talk. That was my way. But don't take this the wrong way; my internal clock is set to catch me up to date in about three hours and then stop where I should be. That's why I needed you for the spell; so I would know the right time frame to stop aging in. I'll remember you after about two hours and will be willing to talk. Just don't mention anything about the Revolution until at least two and a half hours have gone by to avoid any confusion which might occur as a result. I want to avoid any anachronisms possible. This should give me enough time to catch up before the meeting at ten, assuming all goes well.

I'll be waiting in the back of my childhood memories.

Arthur Kirkland

Looking over the rest of England's notes, America found little of interest and even less that he could understand. Everything was written in Old English or Gaelic. He turned to pick up England's clothes and take them upstairs. Time ticked by, and America found some food in England's kitchen for breakfast and started cooking around nine o' clock. A thin, short, skittish fourteen year old came down stairs and looked America over. He was dressed for the sixteenth century. "You must be America. Spain's told me about you." His bright green eyes slid to the two plates of eggs, bacon, toast, and strawberries. "Is one for me?"

America smiled with relief that England had recognised him and seemed to be aging at the right pace. "Yeah, I hope it's to your liking. I put some water on for tea, if you'd like."

The little country scoffed. "As if I'd drink that terrible Italian drink. Pah! I have my dignity. I'll drink ale." America watched in amusement as young England poured himself a mug of ale and began to quickly eat his food with vigour while he drank his coffee at a more leisurely pace. Man, he'd never let England live this one down; alcohol with breakfast, eating with no manners, and refusing tea. Even as he watched, England changed. His face grew a little thinner as cheek bones appeared, and his posture grew more erect. After twenty minutes, England seemed to better understand who he was speaking to. "Alfred? I'm sorry; I don't know why I didn't recognise you before. How rude of me to greet you as a stranger, I don't know what I was thinking."

Alfred was fascinated by the changes in his lover's face as he started to show signs of morning stubble and grew taller. By the time England cleared his dishes, he looked about how he did the day before, and his clothes were far too tight. He set the tea to steeping and excused himself, taking the clothes America had left on the kitchen counter up to his room with him. When he remerged a few minutes later, he was dressed as a privateer, huge hat swaying moved by the air currents. Now he looked almost caught up to date. "You thought you could rebel against me, did you?" A sword flashed in front of America, backing him up against the kitchen wall. Twenty year old War of 1812 England was just now livid about that of all things? America checked his watch, they only had a few minutes before they had to be at the conference.

With a new sense of urgency, he left caution to the wind as he knocked the sword from England's hand. "Arthur, this is no time for sword play. You're going to come with me and change into your 1942 military uniform and then we're going for a little drive. You'll remember on the way where we're going." England was taken aback. This wasn't his ex-colony he had nurtured and raised as if it were his own…but he looked so familiar. How did he grow old so fast? He followed the guidance of the commanding stranger and though he protested once he saw the strange cut of the future uniform, he changed, still a little too thin for it.

He was told to sit in a strange box-shaped contraption which jerked as America pulled levers and spun a gage. It jolted and began to roll as peddles were pressed and the engine roared. Was it in some way akin to the coal powered steam engines he had invented a few decades ago? It moved much faster than a steam engine.

"America, what is this?"

"This is a car. One of my inventions." He watched in amazement as buidlings flashed by. There were other cars on the road, all drivingat such a fast pace that he was sure they would crash. Memories flooded into England's head, each as if it were the first time he had ever thought it. The Crimean war, the Balkans Crisis, Imperialism in Africa, the Great War, the Great Depression. They reached the building. England seemed to be nearly in pain as he grasped his head, trying to keep up with the now rushing memories. He heard a pop, as if he had suddenly changed altitude. He was back in reality, and remembered what a nightmare the day before had been.

"I remember." Both he and America let out a sigh of relief and started laughing with the exhaustion which was finally allowed to filter through to their awareness. Neither had slept well, so when they hurried to get to the meeting and showed up tired, red faced, and slightly out of breath, France gave them a strange, knowing look. America took his seat next to Canada and England set to scowling at France. Only then did they realize that neither of them had thought to actually prepare for the meeting.

I hope you enjoyed this, I know I thouroughly enjoyed writing it. Please review and tell me what you think!

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Oh my god, I loved this story. Some of these actually aren't as bad as I remembered them. I hope you like this one. Read and Review!


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